Domino
by Lily Turtle
Summary: Jareth just casually comes strutting into Sarah's life one night and whisks her away to the labyrinth. But why doesn't he seem very happy about it? And why does she have a funny feeling she's done this before? J/S, the J part being pretty evil at times.
1. Check Opera, Check Phantom

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Would like to own it. But don't. **

**Domino**

_Chapter One - Check Opera, Check Phantom_

Life sucks.

The end.

Bravo.

Goodbye.

Or this, at least, happened to be the opinion of one Sarah Williams one stormy July night. She was sitting in a front row seat at the Met with her loving, doting boyfriend John.

Who she loved. Well… liked. But maybe, just maybe, if she told him she loved him enough, it might come true. Right…

This was one of the things Sarah couldn't figure out, why she could not love John, and why, when surrounded by happiness and listening to the opening arias of Madame Butterfly, she couldn't truly soak it all up. She speculated, no, she **knew** it all had something to do with a little trip she took as a teenager. Goblins and their silly king.

She couldn't forget. Never. And every time she thought she'd made progress, she'd see someone strutting down the sidewalk with pants much too tight to be decent, or a man on an elevator with an unruly shock of blonde hair. Even a particularly fuzzy dog would set her off. The situation had reached critical level.

_Mayday._

Sarah knew it was unhealthy to dwell in the past, but what if you couldn't escape.

What if memories shackled you to a basement radiator and refused to let you go.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Should we go home," John Dover rattled off his list of concerns.

Sarah looked down in her lap, only to find the once-whole program in bits and pieces.

"Great," she said.

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"Peachy then?"

Sarah cringed. Damn was that radiator hot.

"Nice face," John laughed.

"I'm fine. Just fine." And that's who she was most days – _just fine_ Sarah, with no sanity issues to speak of. But when the memories attacked… eesh.

And stupid peaches, especially those of the magically spiked variety, that induced haunting dreams she still harbored today, and all thanks to a selfish warped King, whom, even when separated by dimensions, wouldn't seem to leave her alone. But hey – who's complaining, right?

The pieces of the program were microscopic now.

"Sarah…" John started.

"Yeah," she unintentionally snapped.

"Erm…." He gestured to the mutilated program.

"I'm so happy," Sarah whispered, "I felt the need to make confetti."

John chortled. An old lady in spectacles behind him made a shushing noise.

"Sorry," he hissed, slouching down in his seat.

A small smile touched Sarah's lips.

She attempted to rip the program even further when the melodies started sounding eerily familiar, but found that particular activity impossible.

When intermission rolled around, John walked her to the ladies room and waited outside like a gentleman. She should be elated. Thrilled even! To have a boyfriend like him.

He even paid for these tickets to this opera he had paid attention to her enough to know she liked, and then escorted her there in a tux and a limo. Not only that, but it was on their six month anniversary nonetheless, which he _remembered_. Linda called him a 'keeper'.

But Sarah didn't know how much longer she could tolerate keeping him, or why exactly she couldn't tolerate him to begin with.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, she tucked a stray tendril of dark hair behind her ear, and then quickly stepped away. She blamed on her overactive imagination the flash of color detected by her peripheral vision.

She met up with John outside, where he linked elbows with her and proceeded back into the theater.

"Thanks for these tickets," she said.

"If you say that one more time…"

In truth, that was all she could say really, without admitting that she honestly didn't want to be here. With him. Now, if he elected to morph into a glam-rocker king with an ego problem…No! She scolded herself for thinking like that (again).

He escorted her back to her seat. She thought it funny, as she sat down, that there was a blonde head directly in front of her. She hadn't noticed _him_ before, and he was so tall! She couldn't see a thing.

Sarah craned her head to the left and right, but found the same result. His wild hairdo completely blocked the stage. He almost looked like… Lights dimmed. Murmurs hushed.

John tapped the blonde man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but would you mind switching seats with the woman beside you," he whispered.

The man's head arched back to peer at John, then, to Sarah's surprise, at her.

"Is there a problem?" Jareth asked John. His focus turned to her. "Sarah. Fancy meeting you here."

Sarah's mouth fell open, and her stomach plummeted to her toes. She hadn't at all imagined their meeting to be like this. Maybe a stormy night. A moment of desperation. Something dramatic, enticing, and oh so glittery. But here? Like this? Just a normal, plain jane coincidence? Never.

"_This_ is a small world," he said.

She didn't miss the substitution.

"You two know each other?" John asked her.

She narrowed her eyes. "Long story."

"Not so much actually," chimed Jareth, in his drawling accent. "It condenses into about thirty-five pages or so."

The group was collectively hushed by several voices.

"Stop disturbing the audience," was the last thing Jareth told Sarah before he turned around.

_A/N: Jareth. Coincidence, or plan? Good intentions or not? Kind or evil? Lover? Ruthless? You decide! Bwahahaha. I finally found my writing style and am taking another crack at labby ff. There is a reason Jareth foregos the poppycock to stroll into her life. Just so you know. _


	2. Here We Go Again

**Disclaimer: So we meet again… (breathes deeply) idonotownitnotinanywayshapeorformjimhensondoestheend**

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Two – Here we go Again_

By the time_Con onor muore _rolled around, Sarah had halfway accepted the Goblin King's presence in front of her. That didn't make it any less of a nerve-wracking experience however.

She'd moved beyond attacking the program, to twirling the chiffon of her dress in her hand, then to rolling the focus on her binoculars incessantly and finally to picking the dark cherry finish off the arm of what must have been an expensive chair. That's what she was doing now. A nice white strip marred the wood.

She couldn't see anything over Jareth's ridiculously outdated hair, but she heard when Butterfly collapsed on the stage. The grande finale.

_Drat._

Sarah still hadn't thought of what she was going to say. Maybe John and she could just duck out quietly with no one the wiser.

But still, a nagging part of her mind was intrigued and wanted to know what brought him out of his precious labyrinth. Surely it wasn't her, but she sort of, kind of, just a fraction of a smidgen of an inkling wanted it to be. Probably though it was just a coincidence. That seemed more likely.

Then again, it was the ruler of a race of mythical creatures she was talking about. What exactly constituted 'likely' in these circumstances?

Anything, that's what.

The curtains closed and the lights returned. Jareth's head remained turned away from her. Should she feel relieved or miffed?

_Both?_

"Wasn't that great, honey?" John asked.

Sarah didn't answer, absorbed in her thoughts.

"Sarah?"

"Yea, sure."

"You didn't like it," John said, looking crestfallen.

"No," she amended quickly. "No, I loved it. It was terrific."

_The five minutes of it I saw, anyway…_

"I felt the lead was amateur. She was off pitch throughout the entirety of Act II," Jareth said.

Sarah cringed. There would be no 'ducking out'.

"At least you could watch Act II," she grumbled, tactfully avoiding his mismatched gaze.

"Oh I'm sorry," Jareth smirked, "Were you having trouble focusing?"

"I thought you said you were fine," John turned to her.

"I was," she said, but he looked worried. Always worried. "Um… Jareth," she nodded towards him. "It was… erm… interesting to see you again, but John and I have reservations for dinner."

"At Machivelis?" asked Jareth, looking the picture of innocence.

"Well, yes," John chirped. "How did you know?"

"I have reservations, too. Care if we joined you?" He gestured to a girl beside him.

Wait…

Sarah did a double-take. He was _with_ someone, a drop-dead gorgeous, blonde haired, blue eyed someone. The stunning woman was looking away from him right now, seeming bored.

"Sarah," said Jareth, "I'd like you to meet Gwen."

She tried not to feel something like jealousy, but she really couldn't help herself. The small part of her that held her Goblin King fantasies was wondering how in the world she could compete with this. Then John squeezed her hand, and Sarah remembered that she didn't have to.

"Hello," she said politely.

Gwen just nodded, not even bothering to look her in the eye. "I hate it here," she whispered to Jareth.

Sarah grabbed John's hand and tugged. She wouldn't stay where she obviously wasn't welcome.

John was all but dragged from the opera house and down the street, toward the lit-up windows of the five-star Italian restaurant she intended to dine at. _Without_ Jareth.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" cooed her boyfriend. "Was it Jareth? How come you never told me about him before?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Dover," she told the host. "We have reservations."

"Baby…"

Sarah sighed. "Look, John. It wasn't the opera or Ja… Jareth. I'm just ready for this day to be over."

"You have no idea."

The voice behind her was silk and velvet and red wine. Beautiful. "You followed me?" Sarah snapped at Jareth.

He rolled his eyes. "Come now, Sarah. You act as if I were a villain. Gwen and I have reservations, remember?"

She turned to finally get a good look at him. As she remembered, he towered over her. His wardrobe had changed since the last time though, from tights and sparkling jackets to a sleek, black tuxedo. The sight of him, danger and magic and seduction made corporal, still made her week in the knees.

Gwen beside him shared his otherworldly look, with her porcelain skin and sharp features. Were they dating? Engaged?

Those words seemed too prosaic to be applied to the couple in front of her. Machivelis seemed like a dull backdrop in comparison with their startling presence.

Sarah stood her ground. "What are you really doing here?" she asked finally.

"I came to watch and enjoy an opera," he stated, "although 'enjoy' might be rather questionable. And now, I plan on eating and enjoying my dinner, with or without you. It's that simple really."

"Hey," John said, stepping in front of me. "Don't talk to my girlfriend like that."

Out of anger, and a desire to protect John from complete humiliation, Sarah grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the door. "C'mon. We'll find someplace else to eat."

"So I gather it will be without you, then?" Jareth called after.

~xXx~

Thirty minutes later, Sarah sat in a filthy chair at a filthy table in Chinatown, fuming. Armed with a plastic fork, she was waging war on her sesame chicken and lo mien, while John looked on. He hadn't spoken in a while. Avoiding conflict with her at all cost was a motto he lived his life by.

"Are you over it?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

"You don't sound over it."

"I'm just fine."

He speared a morsel of pork, before bringing it up to his mouth and chewing slowly. So slowly. Ridiculously slowly.

Just slowly enough so that he'd have an excuse not to make conversation.

"Happy Anniversary," she told after a minute, trying to make up for her snappishness.

"You too," he said, instantly brightening, convinced that the situation was over. He put his hand over hers.

_I love him. I love him. I love him._

She knew she'd believe it eventually. Sarah had become quite proficient in lying to herself, although the therapist had to take some credit.

On her eighteenth birthday, five years ago, she'd made the mistake of telling her parents everything. Sarah attempted to show them Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Diddymus in the mirror, but they couldn't see them, not even when they were right there in front of their noses.

Karen had sent her to Pineridge, a mental institution near the hospital, for a week when Sarah wouldn't relent and tell them she was just playing a joke. She could only have visitors from noon to four, those visitors would have to be checked for sharp objects before entering, and there was not one mirror in her room. A psychiatrist would come at nine and stay 'as long as she needed her'.

She would always talk louder to Sarah, like she was Russian instead of crazy. Sarah always wanted to tell her that, but mostly she just sighed and let her yell her heart out.

When she arrived home, Karen had removed all mirrors from the house, except for a very small one she used to apply makeup. Sarah kept up the monthly therapy sessions and soon stopped trying to make contact.

She shuddered to think of that time now. When she had finally freed herself of Karen and went to college, she attempted to call her friends again, but they were always blurry, and she couldn't understand what they were saying. Sarah started therapy again. This time, for a whole new reason.

Sometimes she still saw Hoggle or Didymus, in a mall or a supermarket. But they were still fuzzy, just shapes and smudges.

Sarah had resolved herself to surrender magic, to remain in a penitentiary of the real and mundane for life.

That is, until tonight, when Mr. Magic himself strolled back into her life wearing a tuxedo. And what had she done?

Squandered the opportunity.

The waitress sat the bill down on the table. "Have nice day!"

She'd said that when they walked in, too. Sarah was beginning to speculate it was the only English the woman knew.

Before she walked away, she shoved a fortune cookie into each of their hands.

John peeled the cellophane off his first. "You are…" he started cheerfully, but then his countenance fell. "an incompetent, insufferable fool. What kind of fortune cookie is this?" he cried.

Sarah snickered quietly into her napkin. "Must be a prank one," she said.

"Yeah…" He laughed. "I didn't know they made those."

_Me neither_.

"Open yours," he encouraged.

Sarah cracked open the cookie and removed the tiny slip of paper.

"I wish the goblins would come take me away right now."

"In bed," added John, smiling. He failed to notice the expression on Sarah's face.

_Oh shit._

That was all she had time to say before the universe tilted, all the colors swirled together in a great whirlpool. She hung on to John's oblivious happy face for one moment, before that too was lost into a spiral of glitter and rainbow. Before she knew it, she had landed on her bottom on a hard stone floor.

_And so Alice fell down the rabbit hole._

Looking up, she saw Jareth draped across his throne, riding crop in hand. He tapped it against his foot.

Once.

Twice.

Sarah stood up. "Son of a bitch."

"I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't insult my mother. She's a rather charming woman actually."

"You tricked me!"

"Yes," he said simply. "You fell for it."

"That's so…"

"What?" He swung his lungs to the front and stood up to face her. "Unfair?"

"Cruel," she bit.

"Don't tell me you're surprised."

"Why am I here?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Because I want you to be."

He approached now, drawing nearer with each click of his polished boots. Sometime between the restaurant incident and now, he had reverted back to his familiar finery. Somehow, the ridiculous ensemble suited him better.

"And I always," he continued, barely an inch away from her, "get what I want."

Although she was melting inside, she made her mouth say something to disguise that fact. "Original."

He leaned back on his heels and cocked one perfect eyebrow. Sarah bit her lip.

"Give me your hand," he said, his tone now harsh and bitter.

She just glared.

Sighing, he grabbed it himself, enveloping her smaller fingers in his long leather-clad ones. Using his teeth, he peeled one glove off his free hand and ran a fingertip across the back of Sarah's.

She couldn't ignore the shivers that ran down her spine. She staunchly denied to herself that they had anything to do with lust, attributing them to the fact that his finger was just icy cold. She looked down at the line he'd traced. It was scintillating. Glitter.

She tried to wipe it off, but it stuck.

With that, he pivoted and walked back to his throne. She followed this time, only stopping when she stood directly in front of him. Over him. In control.

"What was that for?" she demanded.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm just trying something."

"Stop being vague! You just kidnapped me for Christ sake. What have you got to lose telling me why?"

"Point. I'm hoping, though, that you'll remember any second now."

She looked into his eyes. They were insistent.

"Remember what?" she cried.

"You don't then…"

What was he talking about?

"Nothing at all?" he asked.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to remember."

Jareth huffed moodily, before grabbing Sarah's hand again.

"Will you marry me?"

If she was Alice, and this was Wonderland, she had now arrived at the tea party portion of the story. The world had gone mad.

She jerked out of his grip. "What's wrong with you?"

He let go and leaned back into his throne again, before crossing a leg and putting his arms behind his head. His eyes closed. "You have three days to decide."

"I decide now. No."

The violent eye peeped open. "Why do you say that every time?" He sounded so forlorn.

"Every time?" she asked, confused.

She didn't get to ponder over it much longer though. Jareth tossed a crystal up in the air.

"Here we go again," was the last thing she heard him mutter before the world exploded again.

~xXx~

The harsh ringing of a telephone was Sarah's wakeup call. Blindly, she shot out hand to search for it, finally finding it and punching 'talk'.

"Ello," she sleepily mumbled into the receiver.

"Hey baby," said the voice on the other end.

"Oh, hey John."

"Guess what day it is?" he burst.

"Saturday?"

There was silence for a minute. "No. Guess again."

"Is this one of those stupid holidays you make me celebrate?"

Last Tuesday had been National Tug-o-War Day. He'd shown up at her apartment with a jump rope.

"Mmm… nope, sorry. Wrong answer."

"Erm… just tell me John."

"It's our sixth month anniversary!"

"Oh!" Sarah grabbed her planner off the nightstand and flipped through till I got to July 13.

Sure enough, she'd scrawled 'anniversary' there.

"I'm so sorry John. I can't believe I forgot!"

"S'okay," he said. "You just woke up."

"I have your present," Sarah told him, trying to prove she didn't forget. "Do you want me to come over now?"

"Nah," he said. "You can give it to me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yep. Pick you up at seven. Wear something fancy. Love you!" He hung up.

As she set the phone back down on the table, she noticed something flash on her right hand.

_Funny_, she thought.

_Where did that come from?_

_A/N: See where I'm going with this, eh? I don't think this particular storyline has been done much. Or at least I hope so. Anyway, thanks to all the brilliant people who reviewed! Keep em' coming, pretty please with a cherry on top. And a banana. And an apple. And, let's just go crazy, through a few mandarin oranges on while we're at it._


	3. Cereal Killer

**Disclaimer: You talkin' to me? You talkin to ME? Nah, I don own it. The man your lookin' for's Jimmy. (Jim Henson walks through the door) Ehhhh Jimmy! **

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Three – Cereal Killer_

She slept in an extra hour that morning, sparkling crescent on her right hand forgotten in a flurry of masquerade dreams.

_Everything's dancing…_

He was here, resplendent in luxurious fabrics as exotic as his features. Stars were woven into his hair.

_Twinkle, twinkle._

She wore the gossamer gown he'd spun for her the first time she was here. But unlike the first time, she didn't need to search to find her king, her eyes immediately detecting him leaning against an elaborate column.

'_Dance with me_?'

In the web of his liquid eyes, what choice did she have but to yield?

_Oh, yes._

Footsteps were weighted and purposeful as he walked, _hunted._ Every soundless fall had intention that demanded to be noticed. Sarah stared.

_Prey._

Glittering eyes smirked, matching the angle of his thin lips. Slowly, they lifted to expose two rows of perfectly white, razor sharp teeth.

_Predator._

Whirling dervishes of color and motes and debauchery swirled around Sarah, but she couldn't take her eyes off of this creature. His cheekbones were so defined they cast alluring shadows down the sides of his jaw. Parts of his face were entirely lost in the dim sourceless light.

Surely he could not be composed of flesh and bone. Tendons and muscles couldn't create so hypnotic an expression. Skin could not blaze as his did. Joints couldn't produce such flowing movement. She found she could not blink.

_Trapped._

He stopped before her, arching an aristocratic eyebrow and tilting his head to the side.

'_So still, love.'_

She felt paralyzed.

'_No one is still at a party.'_

She felt her lips part and her breath hitch. But she did not move, held to the marble she stood on with chains of enchantment. His mouth inched closer to warmly whisper in her ear.

'_I'll move you.'_

Pale wisps and stars tickled her face.

The king pulled her closer with gloved hands. One splayed out across her lower back, while the other skimmed down the bare flesh of her arm.

_Goosebumps._

He captured her hand and began waltzing. She effortlessly kept up, as though she'd practiced this dance a thousand times before. Moving with him was like breathing.

No, easier than breathing.

_Feeling._

Like sunlight on her skin as she lay in soft grass and the white dandelion seeds snowed above her. It felt like living.

'_Remember.'_

His breath was hot. She shivered.

'_Remember the opera. Remember how I abducted you.'_

His grip tightened. It was painful now. A vice.

'_Remember how you __**liked**__ it.'_

She began squirming to get away, but the hand that held hers relocated to sternly encircle her wrist. He was growling now.

'_Remember this time._'

One of his long fingers stroked fire down the back of her right hand.

'_A gift.'_

~xXx~

Sarah woke with a start, and sat up in her small twin bed, all that her struggling actress salary would afford her at the moment. Sweat was beading on her face.

She could still feel the fire on her hand. Nervous green eyes glanced down.

Glitter.

"Just a dream," she murmured to herself.

The mark didn't prove anything. It was probably some of her makeup. If she rubbed it, it would come right off.

So she rubbed it, and rubbed it. Then she flew to her sink to try scrubbing at it with water.

Neither the washcloth or the loofa or even the toothbrush were successful at removing the mark. And so, nearly an hour later, when she'd tried everything she could think of, she sat down on her bed with her head in her hands, and resolved to do the best thing she could think of.

She'd just simply ignore it.

It didn't matter because it was. Just. A. Dream.

That was all there was to it. This just happened to be a disconcerting coincidence. She wasn't going to let it shake her newly found confidence and poise, that she _could_ live a life without fantasy. She could be completely normal.

She'd just be magically repressed forever.

No not repressed, she mentally corrected herself.

"Independent."

Her eyes flicked to the clock. 2:30.

That dumb dream and its repercussions had eaten away half her day.

"I hate goblin kings," she muttered as she violently set a ceramic bowl on the table.

Equally as violent, she snatched the box of Cheerios and poured them, tinkling, into the bowl. The milk wasn't saved her wrath either. It sloshed around the sides and overflowed.

"I hate tights," she grumbled with her first bite.

"I hate glitter." Her second bite.

"I hate parties." The third. "And masks." The fourth. "And stupid, stupid gloves!"

What kind of statement was he making with those anyway?

'Hi I'm Jareth and my palms are always sweaty'?

Or 'Hi I'm Jareth and don't these make me look intimidating'?

She plunged her spoon back down into the little oat pieces. Well, he wasn't.

She wasn't afraid of him at all.

Not one.

**Crunch.**

Little.

**Crunch.**

Bit.

~xXx~

Jareth threw his dream crystal against the stone wall of the throne room, where it shattered into a million pieces. They tumbled to the ground to join the rather large pile of glass shards that had been compiled over the last few months.

He roared. Goblins scuttled from the room, leapfrogging over one another in their scramble to get out as fast as they possibly could.

"That _girl_," he yelled.

"Face it," Gwen said, looking up from her regal pose in the doorway. "She just doesn't like you."

"Damn you Gwenyvir!" he yelled at his sister.

Jareth wove the air around his fingers into another crystal, only to chuck it at her. She ducked out of the way the last moment.

"Don't blame me," she coolly brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "This is your fault. You're the one who made the bet."

"How I regret it," he grumbled.

"And I'm helping you," she added. "You think I like going up there?" She gestured to the Aboveground with her eyes. "It's miserable. And it smells bad. And everyone is so… oddly shaped."

"First of all, you are not even trying to help me. You're the one who ran her off last time. I invited you because I thought she'd be jealous of you."

"Who isn't?" she murmured.

"But you're the one who ran her off last time!"

"Do not, little brother, expect me to fix your messes." Her eyes were as sharp as his.

"You're only older by a minute."

Gwen smiled crookedly, the spitting image of her twin. "Yes. I'm always one step ahead of you."

With that, she turned and stalked off.

Jareth threw another conjured crystal at her.

"Missed!" she called.

"You're not," he assured.

Inviting her to his castle was one of the countless other things he'd added to his list of regrets over the last two years. His sister was just so…

_Exactly like you…_

Jareth spun his umpteenth crystal of the day.

"Sarah," he commanded of it.

She was dressed up, in the same black chiffon and pearls he'd watched her dress up in for the last two years. He made himself take the proposal seriously this time, leaving the kingdom in charge of his steward. Sure the court had been on him for it running amuck, but the bigger issue was his humiliation.

Since she had beaten him, he'd been their laughing stock. Whenever Sarah did say yes, if that day ever came, Jareth wasn't quite sure if he'd laugh in relief or tear her limb from limb.

Peering into the glass orb in his palm, he saw her pacing around her dingy, tiny apartment.

_Disgusting._

He had broom closets bigger.

Sarah was biting her fingernails now, and fidgeting. Every so often, she'd glance down at the mark he'd painted on her hand – his failed plan to help her remember.

Then though, determination would light in her eyes, and she'd return to pacing, waiting on that ridiculous suitor of hers to knock on the door.

Finally he tapped on the wood. She jumped, afraid for some reason.

_Me, _he thought smugly to himself.

_Good._

She opened the door for him. Jareth made a low sound of distaste when he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

Why would she settle for this… this _boy_, but not himself? King of the Goblins, of dreams, of magic. Fae. Powerful. Practically sizzling with dark temptation.

_No one_ resisted. Except this one, intolerable mortal girl who he wanted so very badly to loathe.

Jareth watched John escort his Sarah – _his_ – out to a limo parked on the curb.

Limo, he snorted.

_I'd fly her there, and to the moon besides._

Grinning like a fool, John shouted a street name to the driver, before asking that the shade blocking the window between them be rolled up.

Jareth sat forward in his seat. This hadn't happened before. John must be feeling particularly brave tonight. He put his arm around her shoulders, before sloppily kissing her, open-mouthed, on the side of her neck.

Jareth corrected himself. John wasn't brave. He was idiotic.

He watched as his hands wandered across her collar bone, and lower, lower.

Sarah gasped. Jareth's lips pulled up over his teeth in a snarl.

John shifted, throwing a leg over Sarah's lap so that he was straddling her and pushing her into the seat. His mouth descended over and over again at the very bottom of her gown's neckline.

Jareth stood up.

The boy had a death wish.

He was in one of _those_ moods.

_A/N: Add some kiwis to that sundae. And snickers. And any leftover Halloween candy you may find. Speaking of Halloween, I hope you all had frightening ones. Thanks for the reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Just like a build-a-bear. Keep stuffing, everyone._


	4. Taxi

**Disclaimer: In the interest of avoiding redundancy, I will simply say SEE CHAPTER ONE. (claps hands together) That oughtta do it.**

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Four – Taxi_

"John," Sarah said. "John get off."

Still on top of her, he breathed a heavy sigh, but finally acquiesced, moving to leadenly collapse on the leather next to her.

"Sarah, we're a _couple_. This is what couples do." He ran a hand through his slicked brown hair. "And it's our anniversary. Sixth months! Can't we at least have some fun?"

"I am having fun," she said tiredly. "Some of us aren't primitive beasts all the time. Why do you have to be a pig?"

Sarah swore that the taxi driver, beneath the lid of his checkered hat, was chuckling to himself.

_Rude._

"Stop the cab," said John.

Immediately, the driver pulled over to the curb, so swiftly that the wheels banked up onto it. Sarah gripped the seat from being jostled.

John opened the door, reaching into his jacket and pulling out two tickets to the Metropolitan Opera's production of Madame Butterfly before doing so. He slammed them down on the black seat and got out.

"Have fun," he said. "The tickets cost me a fortune. One for you and one for that stick up your ass."

"John…" Sarah started, beginning to exit the limousine. One of her stiletto heels was placed on the pavement. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

_Goblin kings. Books. Poofy dresses. Dreams. Platinum bed hair._

The list was too long to calculate really.

"I'm just in a bad mood. I didn't mean to ruin our anniversary." She pouted, hooking one of her teeth on her crimson lower lip as she did so. "Do you want your present now?"

"God, I swear Sarah. I always feel like you're far away from me. I feel like you're bound to fly away any minute."

Again, she heard the taxi driver laugh.

"Do you have a problem?" John snapped at him.

"No hablo Ingles," the driver responded.

Sarah rolled her eyes. John turned back to his girlfriend. "I just don't want to lose you."

Sarah felt a strange emotion writhe in the pit of her stomach. It wrapped itself around her stomach and squeezed like a boa constricter.

_Guilt._

"I'm sorry John," she said again. "I've just… been out of it lately I guess. I keep having déjà vu moments and these really weird dreams."

Sarah saw the taxi cab driver cough into his gloved hand.

_Gloves are stupid. _

"Do you think those make you look intimidating or something?" she demanded of him.

"Eh?"

"Sarah honey," John reminded. "He doesn't speak English, remember?"

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. "See? It's like I'm crazy."

_Losing my marbles._

"You're not crazy."

"I'm having trouble remembering things sometimes," she said. "Like today. I _knew _it was our anniversary. Just knew it. I've been debating over what to get you for ages, before finally deciding on that wristwatch you're wearing."

John was silent a moment. "What watch?"

"The brand name one on your wrist. You've been eyeing it in the storefront window for months. Don't trick me right now."

"Sweetheart…" John started. "I'm not wearing a watch."

"Yes you are," she sat up and yanked on his wrist, wrenching his coat cuffs up to point out to him that there was…

_No watch…_

"I swear to God I gave it to you."

"No," he said. "No you didn't. Sarah are you okay?"

He put a palm to her forehead, checking for a fever. Sarah briefly wondered why people always _did_ that when they thought something was wrong.

She swatted his hand away. "Just fine."

"You sure?" he asked. "You feel a little warm."

"I'm just… flustered is all."

_Goodbye marbles._

She could practically feel them trickling out of her head. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"You could give it to me now?" John suggested.

Sarah shook her head, trying to shake the distinct memory she had of giving John the watch earlier when he'd come to pick her up. Instead of reminding him of that again, she reached for her purse. Sure enough, to her bewilderment, a small red box rested in the bottom, tucked between her mascara and cell phone.

She pulled it out and handed it to him, her brows pulled together in frustrated confusion.

"I swear…" she mumbled.

John opened the lid and looked in, eyes alighting on the Armani leather band and shining silver faceplate immediately. "I love it!" he exclaimed. "It's exactly what I wanted. Thanks, honey."

Another moment of déjà vu caught Sarah. She'd seen him putting the watch on his wrist before, precisely as he just did. He'd even flicked the glass screen one time before thanking her, just as he did now. It reminded Sarah of that odd sensation where you think there's one more step and there isn't.

John reached for her, and pulled her to him. She let him kiss her for a moment, before she was prodded in the shoulder.

"Deseo a la duendes que vienen me fuera ahora mismo?" asked the driver. His face was still shrouded in the shadow of his hat.

He must have been trying to ask a where they were going.

"Oh, um… 64th street," John said, before glancing at his new watch. "And step on it."

"No, no, no."

Sarah thought the driver's voice sounded strange.

"Deseo a la duendes que vienen me fuera ahora mismo?"

"Didn't you take Spanish in college?" John asked her.

"A little bit."

"Can you understand what he's saying?"

"Um…" Sarah glanced back at the mysterious driver. "Repeat? Repita?"

The driver sighed. Sarah's lips puckered. His accent sounded entirely un-Spanish. "Deseo a la duendes que…"

"Deseo a la duendes que," Sarah repeated. She thought she detected the word desire in there.

"Vienen me fuera ahora mismo." The driver began tapping his fingers on the headrest.

"Vienen me fuera ahora mismo…" She searched through her mind, trying to figure out what the words meant. Spanish class had been so long ago, and she'd spent it as she'd spent most classes. That is to say, daydreaming.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what you're saying."

She could see a thin slit of a mouth cock sideways in a familiar smirk. "Good."The voice rang clear and strong, filling the car to the brim with its rich and heavily accented tone.

Jareth tore the cap off of his head and shook his tussled mane of blonde hair. "You know, Sarah, you really shouldn't say things if you don't know what they mean."

Sarah's mouth hung open. Jareth took the liberty of closing it for her with a fingertip. "It's not polite to stare," he quirked an eyebrow, before adding, "Though I don't blame you."

"Um… Sarah…" John stuttered. "Who… is this?"

"Ah," Jareth said. "The unworthy, inadequate suitor. Shall I call you Gaspar or Paris or Mr. Collins? "

"John actually," he said.

"Perfect. It suits your mediocrity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my Belle and be gone."

Jareth reached forward and gripped Sarah around the shoulders. "I'd offer my hand dear, but seeing as you take offense to generosity in any form…"

"Son of a bitch."

"Don't worry," said Jareth, grinning. "You'll get over it. I promise. You always do."

John watched, aghast, as they vanished in a puff of glitter.

_a/n: erm… this was supposed to be longer, and it is in my head. It's just… I'm long on ideas, short on time if you know what I'm saying. I'll try to get the other part out tonight, or tomorrow, or… Thursday? How's Thursday sound? Eesh. But, anyway, thanks to my delightful, delicious, delovely reviewers. And, oh, one more note. The reason I made Jareth a twin. Ahem… well, I was reading an article in a magazine about strange quirks in twins. One of them is two-toned eyes! Guess who immediately invaded my thoughts? Jareth the Goblin King. And presto!_


	5. Strike Three, You're Out

**Disclaimer: FFNET rules, look over there at that giant squid! (while ffnet rules are looking, Lily Turtle runs away, chuckling evilly, like so: bwahahahaha!)**

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Five – Strike Three, You're Out_

The universe tilted and lurched for Sarah. Color, light, and magic engulfed her body. Her mind was reeling.

But still…

_Déjà vu?_

Nah, couldn't be.

They arrived in a room larger than Sarah's entire apartment. It was, she noticed with anger, his bed chamber. She also noticed, this time with surprise, that it was not as immaculate as she had imagined, and she had imagined many times.

There were glass shards everywhere. Everywhere!

They were collected in heaps in the corners of the room, embedded into the furniture, sprinkling the stone floor. Barefooted people beware, it was the biggest health hazard she'd ever seen!

Aside from that, it had traces of civility left. There was a majestic hearth, blazing orange sparks, spanning across the far wall. A Persian rug was sprawled out near its feet. Covering it though, were bottles of every shape and sort. Big ones. Small ones. Green ones. Blue ones. And all of them drained dry.

Surrounding the rug were two identical sofas and one domineering high-backed chair. The chair, however, was toppled over and resting on its side beside the flames.

Her eyes flicked hesitantly to the bed. Sheets were rumpled up and haphazardly dangling off the side. Apparently, the king was not a peaceful sleeper.

_Maybe he should try counting sheep._

Once she glanced back at the bed's owner however, the suggestion vanished from her thoughts.

His mismatched eyes were boiling. Jareth firmly held her gaze as he reached up and slowly brushed glitter off his lapels.

"You'll have to excuse the mess," he hissed, taking one vindictive step toward her.

Sarah stepped back. Crystal remains crunched underneath the heel of her shoe.

"Why am I here?" she demanded, stopping, suddenly ashamed that she'd retreated.

_Coward_.

Jareth cocked his head to the left, and moved just a little bit closer. They were a hairsbreadth apart.

_Heat_.

"Why am I here?" she repeated.

_Because he wants me to be, and he always gets what he wants._

He lifted a lock of her hair with his fingers. "Because I want you to be. And I always get what I want."

Sarah tensed. How had she known he'd say that?

Jareth grinned, mistaking her poise as a reaction to him. "Afraid, sweet?"

"When pigs fly," she stated, much more boldly than she was feeling, finally venturing to look him in the eye.

That was her first mistake.

Jareth tightened his grip on her hair, winding it around his fingers and using it to pull her chin up painfully. "Oh really? Do you think I could be frightening?"

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._

"You can't scare me."

_My voice is a moron._

Her second mistake.

He relocated his hands to her shoulders and shoved. He pushed her farther and farther, glass remnants crushing to powder underneath their feet. Jareth didn't stop till he'd backed her up against the cold wall.

"Is that a challenge?" he whispered in her ear.

Right before he nipped at it.

Sarah gulped.

"No." She took a few even breaths. "It's a fact."

Strike. She was out.

He pushed her hard. One of his knees pressed into her leg.

Sarah bit her trouble-making tongue, cursing it for whatever fate was about to befall her.

"I vow to you now Sarah Williams, that by sunrise." His nails raked down her arm," you'll be absolutely," his lips came to rest at the corner of hers, "terrified."

He planted one quick kiss, and then disappeared, leaving Sarah panting against the wall. She mentally scolded herself for finding that entire experience sexy as hell.

What had he told her? That she'd be scared of him?

"Ha," she called aloud. "Do your worst, Goblin King."

"Careful what you wish for."

His voice came from behind her. She pivoted, but there was no one there.

Suddenly, everything in the room – the fire, the glass, the rumpled sheets – all swirled into oblivion, disappearing into a hole that had formed in the center. Sarah found that she was being pulled that way, too. Being sucked into nothingness like everything else.

Her hand found candelabra on the wall and gripped it with all her might, but the force was too strong, tornado like in its power.

She and the candelabra together tumbled down the…

_Rabbit hole._

And into utter and complete blackness. Sarah landed on her bottom with an 'oomph'.

She recognized her circumstances immediately. This was an oubliette.

She huffed. No big deal. She was expecting a near-death experience, but this? She could handle this.

This oubliette, she noted, smelled much worse than the last one she'd been in. And there was another difference. A strange buzzing noise assaulted her ears from all around.

She couldn't pin it at first, but then it hit her.

_Insects._

Okay, this was a little alarming. She wasn't a big bug advocate.

Sarah felt something whiz past her face. She gasped.

"It's okay Sarah," she whispered to herself. "All you have to do is find the door."

She began crawling on hands and knees, trying to find the corners of the dungeon. Her hands came up blank, just landing on rock. Several more of the insects she tried not to let herself get to worked up over flew past her ears. One alighted on her arm and began crawling upward.

She smacked it, noticing that it must have been exceedingly bigger than she imagined.

Using the floor to wipe its guts off her palm, she allowed herself to let out one shaky breath.

"Find the door," she repeated to herself, and began crawling again.

Cold stone.

Cold stone.

Cold stone.

Smooth… something.

Sarah's hand touched on something smooth and lumped. Wrinkled almost. She gasped and withdrew it immediately, noticing that the strangely large insects seemed to be congregated around the spot.

Immediately, she decided that she'd rather not know, and made her way around it, giving the whatever-it-was a wide berth.

She couldn't escape for long though. She next felt something furry in her grip. Almost like… dog?

But no, it was coarser than that. The insects were swarming this place, too.

Sarah retreated quickly, avoiding this thing, too.

Again, her path was soon marred by another object. This one though, Sarah could clearly identify. It was metallic and angular, with a large hoop at the top. It was obviously a lantern.

Sarah felt around the side.

_Why would Jareth try to help me?_

She stood up with it in her hands, finally finding a little ridged knob at the bottom. After one long moment of hesitation, she twisted it and let the candle inside slowly flicker to life.

Her eyes were blinded for an instant, by the sudden change. As soon as they adjusted and focused on her surroundings though, she wished she had been blind.

_Dear God!_

Sarah screamed before she could even consider stopping herself, for lying before her in deformed positions, were the friends she'd met on her first trip through the Labyrinth.

Dead.

The objects her she had bumped into as she was crawling were Hoggle and Ludo. Didymus and Ambrosius lay near her right foot. All four sets of airs were opened and glossy, staring ahead into nothingness.

_No, no, no, no!_

"Bastard!" she yelled. It echoed in the infinite dark.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she rushed to Hoggle's side, shooing away the insects that were trying to finish him off.

"Go away," she screamed, when they came back to land and crawl over his unnaturally pale flesh. "Hoggle!"

How could he?

How the hell could he?

If he thought this would scare her, he had another thing coming. She was angry.

_I'll kill him!_

She looked over at Ludo and had to choke back bile. There were puncture wounds everywhere. Blood was blossoming out, matting his orange fur.

"How could you!" she called to Jareth.

Mocking laughter resounded through the inky darkness.

She fell to her knees, putting her head in her hands and sobbing. Her friends, her very first friends here, her best friends, were gone. Vanished. And she'd wasted so much time!

How long had it been since she'd spoken to them?

But that didn't matter now.

She could never speak to them again.

"I'm sorry."

_I'll kill him._

A few of the strange green bugs came to land on her now. Sarah could feel their miniscule legs latch onto her scalp and arms. More came, settling on her forehead.

She flicked them out of the way, but more soon came to replace them. Sarah stood up.

"Find the door," she told herself, voice breaking with every word.

But she couldn't stand to be here any longer. And the sooner she escaped, the sooner she could wring the Goblin King's filthy little neck.

~xXx~

"Wow, Jareth," Gwen said, looking over his shoulder to peep into the crystal he held. "You're such a romantic. What girl wouldn't want to marry the psycho maniac who killed her best companions?"

"She deserves it," he grumbled.

"Whatever you say, Romeo."

"Leave Gwen," he snapped.

"Touchy, touchy."

"I said leave!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but turned and left the throne room all the same.

~xXx~

The bugs were swarming Sarah now. No matter how many times She smacked them away, they kept coming back, drawn to the lantern. But she couldn't extinguish it. If she couldn't find the door, she'd end up just like them. That was unacceptable.

No death was imminent here except Jareth's.

She turned and started walking, trying to shake the insects, hoping she'd hit a wall sooner or later.

When she didn't, and the even more bugs came to fly around her, she began to run. The light inside the lantern illuminated a cone in front of her feet.

She'd smack into the hard stone wall sooner or later.

One of the bugs bit her on the shoulder.

"Get off!" she yelled, running faster, practically sprinting now.

_It's so unfair!_

It didn't matter how she sped up though. The buzz of tiny wings matched her pace.

And there was no wall to be found.

It was just infinite, eternal darkness. The perfect place to be forgotten.

The worst place in the world to die.

Tears cascaded from her eyes in a torrent.

She felt another sting on her left hand.

She saw the lantern's light ahead of her fall on a vertical surface finally. Sarah skidded to a halt just before she collided, and began making her way around the edge, the green insects gathering in clusters on her body. She swiftly walked around the circumference, searching for the plank of wood that would help her escape.

Caught in the haze of her desperation, she ignored every bite the bugs delivered. Finally, she found what she was looking for.

Sarah pushed the door into its slot in the wall, before twisting the knob and opening it. Brooms and buckets tumbled out onto her feet.

_Some things never change._

She opened it the other way. Immediately, she was pulled through by the same invisible force that had drawn her here.

Down, down, down.

The buzzing of insects was growing fainter.

_Safe._

She wished she could say the same for Hoggle, Diddymus, and Ludo.

Something fleshy caught her in its grip.

No, Sarah noted. Multiple grips.

Helping hands.

"You again."

"Up!" she called as loud as she could. "I pick up this time!"

A hundred different voices chuckled at the same time.

"We don't give second chances," a collection of them said.

"But you're supposed to help me," Sarah whined.

"Once," said a nasally voice. "Only once."

"On three?" another called.

"On three!"

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked frantically.

"One."

She began struggling, trying to get them to loosen their hold.

"Two."

"Stop it," she called.

"Three."

The hands began pulling, at her hair, at her wrists, at her ankles. It hit her with horror that they were attempting to tear her apart.

"Stop! Stop it!"

"**Just say that you fear me."**

His voice floated to her ears from nowhere.

_I'll die first._

"No!"

The hands pulled harder, yanking her in all different directions.

"You have no power over me!" she called finally.

All of a sudden, the hands disappeared, melting back into a white so blinding, she had to close her eyes.

When she opened them, she saw a room with four pale walls. Sunlight was spiking through one screened window, too high above her head to peer through.

She was back in purgatory at Pineridge. She looked around her and gave a shaky laugh.

This was just a memory. She'd been here. Done this. She wasn't scared.

A knock on her door.

Sarah rolled her eyes. She remembered her psychiatrist doing that, always knocking instead of just barging in because it gave the patients some sort of 'comfort'. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Is it alright if I come in?" asked Ms. Spruce.

Sarah didn't answer. Jareth was trying to frighten her with a memory. It was ridiculous.

"I'm coming in now, okay?"

_Why ask at all if you're just going to do it?_

The door swung open, quickly closing again after Ms. Spruce stepped into the room. "Sarah gorgeous, how are you today?"

"Just fine, Jareth."

Ms. Spruce wrinkled her forehead, her curls bouncing on her shoulders as she kneeled down in front of Sarah. "Who?"

_He really should have pursued a career in acting._

"Jareth, don't play innocent with me. I know what you're trying to do," Sarah lashed. "You killed my friends."

More tears trickled out of her eyes.

"Sarah… I'm Dr. Spruce. Not Jareth. Remember? He's make believe. I'm real." She plastered on a smile. "And you're real, Sarah gorgeous."

"Don't give me that!" she screamed. "You're a liar and a cheat! And I'll kill you for killing them!"

Sarah tried to launch herself at the woman, but found she couldn't.

_Straightjacket. _

"Someone get in here with the sedatives!" Dr. Spruce called, cheery demeanor vanished. "Who am I?"

"Jareth."

"No, Sarah gorgeous, I'm Delilah Spruce, and you're Sarah Williams, and there is no such thing as the Goblin King or the Labyrinth."

"Yes there is!" Sarah screamed. "I was just there! Stop it."

"Sarah gorgeous," Delilah Spruce said sadly. "You've been here for five years. This is the _real_ world. You were just having a bad dream."

More droplets streamed down her face. This was getting to be just a smidgen too real.

_But it can't be._

A doctor and a nurse, both in periwinkle scrubs, entered the room. "Again?" they asked.

"Second time this week," Delilah sighed.

The doctor slowly began to approach her. He stopped and kneeled down to her level when he was close enough.

"This won't hurt a bit, sweet," he whispered into her ear.

Sarah's eyes shot open. The voice belonged to Jareth.

"Are you afraid?" he hissed.

She didn't answer. He threw his blonde head back and laughed.

"Don't look at me, cowering as you are, and tell me you're not." He leaned close again. "I know you."

"You don't know me," Sarah said.

Now though, she wasn't sure what was real and imaginary. The line had been blurred.

"I watch you," Jareth told her. "I know. I know every little thing about you. The food you eat, the clothes you wear, what you fear." The tip of the needle pressed into the skin of her neck. "What you _desire_." His lips soon replaced it. His hot breath sent shivers down her spine.

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"You killed my friends."

"Did I?"

"This isn't real," she said.

"Isn't it?"

"No."

He waited a moment. "But how do you know?"

"I… I…" Sarah hung her head. "I don't."

He was still so near her.

"While we're in this position," he said, "and you're so utterly helpless, I have a question to ask of you?"

"No."

"But you haven't even heard it yet, m' dear."

Suddenly the white room around them evaporated. Jareth was standing before Sarah in his throne room again.

Quite unexpectedly, to Sarah at least, Jareth got down on bended knee and took her hand in his. "Marry me?"

Several aching moments of silence passed. "Excuse me?"

"You know. Bells. White gown. Invitations. 'I do'. Holy matrimony. All that jazz."

"Go to hell," she spat.

Jareth stood. "It's a yes or no question."

Sarah slapped him across the face. "That was for my friends."

"I _warned_ you I could be terrifying." Jareth didn't seem phased in the least by her slap. His head didn't even move. "You just chose not to listen to me."

The weight of his words rattled around Sarah's head, before finally sinking in.

"So…" she stuttered. "So they're not dead?"

"Who?"

Sarah slapped him again.

Jareth laughed aloud. "That doesn't actually hurt me, you know."

"Son of a bitch."

"You say that so often." He crossed his arms and leaned back on one heel. "And it's so vile. I don't recall you having such a foul tongue. I'm sure I could find a better use for it." He smiled.

"You're disgusting."

"I've been told," he said, smirking. "Same question though. How do you answer, sweet?"

"With a resounding _hell_ no."

Jareth's eyes rolled. It was almost as if…

_he expected that answer._

Jareth conjured a crystal and tossed it at her. "Catch."

She did.

~xXx~

"Well, that went swimmingly," remarked Gwen, watching Jareth pace around his throne room.

"She needed to be taught a lesson," he responded coolly.

"Too bad she's forgotten it already."

"She'll remember when she agrees to wed me."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Whenever that is."

"Soon," Jareth told her. "I left another mark on her hand."

"Whatever you say."

Jareth turned to scowl at her, before pivoting and walking out of the throne room.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"To sleep."

_The first night I'll have done so in a month._

He stormed into his room and out onto the balcony. Starlight bore down on his figure. He used it to weave a crystal on the tip of his fingers. He blew it to float on the breeze, through his kingdom, and then up, Aboveground, to Sarah.

For three days would her time be frozen, the utmost limit of his power.

That would give Jareth some time to sort through this mess, and…

_To rest._

Jareth rolled his eyes. He hated being vulnerable, being bound, as others of his kind were not, to trivial things like sleep. If only the High King, his father, could have controlled his lust for human women.

Jareth sighed.

If only he could control his own.

_a/n: you wanted longer? How's 3,000 words sound to you? So, I've decided I'm going to make my Jareth a half human, moody, playful (he's half fae after all), brooding, enslaved, freespirited, rock and roll, gentlemanly creature ever to exist. In short, the oddest concoction of ironies you've ever seen. Should be fun. Told you he'd be a little dark at times, but hey! He's a little sensitive to people undermining his masculinity._


	6. Court

**Disclaimer: Please take a number.**

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Six - Court_

_"That is the substance, this the shadow; that the reality, this the dream."  
-- E.S. Phelps_

Jareth echoed as he strode through the glittering hallway.

_Click, click, click._

He raised his chin, scorning the world.

He had a presence, it was true, as if the place in which he happened to be standing at any certain point would morph to accommodate him.

_Click, click, click._

There was a certain aura to Jareth that nobody could simply brush off. His presence lingered in a hall like strong perfume. In its aroma, there was a pinch of fear, a dash of intrigue, and many, many gallons of uncertainty. Not even the best oracles in court could predict his next move.

The King of the Goblins lived perpetually in between – the gray area. In his life. In his choices. In his manner. It would be inaccurate to say though that he wasn't a decisive man. That wasn't correct in the slightest. He made up his mind, and stuck with his choice come hell or high water.

The thing was that his decisions rarely fit within the status quo of things. If there was one person, the court knew, that could uproot the entire Underground, it was Jareth.

It was funny, considering he was never meant to exist at all.

_The illegitimate. The embarrassment. _

Oh, how he _loathed_ coming to court.

It was so… Jareth could think of no other word but 'frilly'. It was lace and roses. Court was a place where every sparkling vase of garden fresh flowers was set in the exact center of a doily.

_Revolting._

Streamers were strung from the high arched beams of the palace, twining over and between one another. There were colossal windows set into every wall, casting certain slants of light over dainty rugs. Everywhere he looked, there was brightness and kissing and laughing, so lacking of that dark edge that accompanied not only Jareth's sense of interior decorating, but his very self as well.

The renegade king stuck out like a sore thumb.

Oh yes, how he loathed court with every fiber of his being.

He could see others looking at him, studying his outlandishness from the corners of their eyes. He could hear them whisper.

_Let them talk._

A smirk rightfully formed on the corner of his lips.

He knew that he was a scandal.

"Jareth," a voice resonated through the hall. The whisperers flinched. Jareth only put a hand to his hip and smiled wider.

Ah.

_Dear old dad._

"Father."

Ophion almost cringed in his throne. Jareth made sure to remind him of their relationship as much as possible.

"What brings you here?"

He couldn't help but hear the distaste in his father's voice, disturbing the saccharine aura of his surroundings.

Suddenly, a fox came trotting through the grand, golden archway, giving Jareth a wide berth. The fox stepped gracefully up the short steps to his father's throne, pausing but a moment to linger and let her fur be stroked by Orphion's outstretched hand, before she hopped up on the jeweled throne beside him and transformed.

Into his stepmother. Danu, High Queen of the Fey.

She kept her focus away from Jareth, reluctant to look at living proof that her husband was anything less than absolutely faithful.

Who, after all, could find something lacking in her immaculate porcelain doll beauty?

"I've come to request a favor of you," Jareth said, adding through gritted teeth, "_father_."

_This is humiliating_.

"A favor?" sneered Ophion. "Have I not been generous to you? You're a king!"

"Of a borderland," he reminded. "A filthy place. Or at least it was when you so generously _bestowed_ it upon me."

The tension hung thick and palpable in the air.

"Leave us," Ophion called to his subjects, a smile painted on his face.

The robed faeries filed through various exits, one at a time.

At Ophion's will, all the doors slammed shut after them.

"Ingrate," Danu sneered. "What have we been to you but the pinnacle of benevolence?"

"I wasn't speaking to you, witch."

The queen stood from her throne, a thought on her mind to dispose of the Goblin King here and now, but Ophion put a hand on her shoulder, staying her. "Peace, dearest. He will not stay for long."

"I ask again," he continued, "what brings you here to sully our court?"

"I come to request a favor of you, from a father to his son," added Jareth.

Danu turned her face away.

"From a subject to his master," corrected Ophion, his violet eyes fierce.

It took all of Jareth's nerve to grit out, "As you wish."

"Proceed."

"I ask for," Jareth closed his eyes, "a repeal of this curse."

Ophion snorted aloud, "But you _love_ the human girl. And she loves you. Don't you remember? You said so yourself."

"It was a foul trick and you know it. A clear violation of the rules. Kings, no matter how lowly they are in your eyes, have immunity."

Jareth noted the irony of his complaining about them breaking the rules, seeing as he broke quite a few himself. On a daily basis.

Hourly.

Minutely.

_All the time._

"I hardly call you a king. What are your puny subjects? Chickens. Goblins." Ophion smiled a smirk Jareth was ashamed to share. "How terrifying. No you… you're more like a… a nanny."

Out of instinct, before Jareth even thought to stop himself, a crystal had formed in the palm of his hand.

His father though, was just a fraction quicker. Before Jareth knew it, he was flying across the room. He landed in a heep on a feasting table. A wine goblet tumbled to the floor. He sprung to his feet the next second, brushing off his lapels.

"In case you were wondering," Ophion stood from his throne and cocked his head to the side, "that's a 'no'."

"Let me remind you father," Jareth spat, "that Gwen and I are your only living heirs."

Danu turned the color of apples in June. Her face was the last thing he saw before he vanished in a puff of glitter.

Jareth rubbed his temple. Although it was true that either Gwen or he would take control of the kingdom, that would only occur at both of the high monarchs' deaths. Neither Ophion or Danu was in any danger of perishing soon.

And come to think of it, Jareth didn't really want command of that infernal court.

"That was a mistake," he mumbled to himself.

He should've known it was useless to accuse the ultimate judges of breaking the law. He just thought that his father might have softened slightly after his last pure blood offspring had died.

_Obviously I was wrong._

Jareth landed on the mossy ground of a forest. Various hues of green drowned out everything else. Vines wound like snakes around the thick trunks of trees that were centuries' old. Thistle sprouted into a heavy blanket on the ground.

He heard the babbling of a brook nearby. He heard that, and a woman's laughter.

He began making his way through the forest, pushing layers of undergrowth out of his way.

The laughter immediately ceased. "Who's there?" cried a frantic voice.

He stepped out of the forest, and into a clearing by the stream's edge. A stone cottage was there, surrounded by carefully tended gardens of ever-blooming roses in impossible shades. A woman in a simple cotton gown sat in the grass, her toes dipping into the blue water. Waves of brown hair cascaded down her back. The woman's eyes lit up when she saw him.

"Mother," he said.

Morgan jumped to her feet and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh Jareth," she said. "It's been so long since you've visited! How are things in your kingdom? How are you? How's Gwen? Actually, _where's_ Gwen?"

"What question would you like me to answer first?"

"Well, firstly I'd like you to tell me why exactly it is that you've neglected your mother for so long." She smacked him on the shoulder. "It's been years!" Her green eyes were reproachful.

"I have a kingdom to tend to, you know."

"Surely it hasn't kept you so busy."

"It's a long tale."

She put her hands to her hips. "And I expect you to tell me every word inside."

He let her grab his arm and pull her into the cottage.

It was a small place, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. The Tree Kingdom. Where nobody could find her.

Jareth had hidden her away from Danu's jealousy when she had found out that he and his sister existed. She'd clamored in court for Morgan's head on a pike. Ophion, his passions fleeting after all, had finally ordered her execution. He could not, however, bring himself to murder his own flesh and blood, however ashamed he was of them.

So, to save their mother's life, Gwen and Jareth faked their mother's death, and brought her to the Underground to live, in hiding. Forever. For Morgan would never age. She was frozen at 32 for the rest of her fugitive life.

Jareth ducked under the doorway of the cottage. Morgan pulled out a chair by the fire.

"If I'd have known you were coming, I would've cleaned," she fretted.

But the room was sparkling. There wasn't a speck of dust or dirt to be found. What else, after all, could she do with her time?

Her only other amusement was found in gossiping with the water nymphs in the brook.

"It looks lovely, mother."

They both sat in the reed chairs Morgan had made herself. Jareth waved a hand, and the chairs became velvet. Luxurious.

He conjured a plush footrest for her.

Morgan sighed tiredly, and propped her feet up. "Thank you. I'll have to enjoy it while it lasts," she said.

Jareth's power was only permanent while in the confines of his own kingdom. As soon as he left, the chairs would become reed again. "So how are things?" asked Morgan.

"Terrible as always."

"And Sarah?" Morgan's green eyes brightened.

"What of her?" he grumbled.

"Any luck?"

Jareth reigned in his anger, controlling his urge to kick anyone who mentioned Sarah's name.

_Old habits die hard._

"Can we not speak of her?" he asked.

"Don't make bets with water witches," his mother scolded. "Then we wouldn't have to."

He hated being reminded of the incident. That drunken night two years ago where he had bet that Sarah was in love with and would marry him. Little known to Jareth however, the lady he spoke to was a sorceress. A rather angry sorceress, too, after he had smacked her for the insolent remark that a mere human was mightier than him.

Now, he was doomed to court her for eternity until she agreed to be his wife. Every three days, he would be pulled to the Aboveground. And every time he failed, Sarah's time would be reversed, erasing her memory of all their previous experiences together.

Although in the light of the events that had taken place two days ago, perhaps that was a good thing.

Jareth looked away. "Mother."

"Son. Gwenyvir tells me you practically frightened her to death."

He snapped his attention back to Morgan. "Gwen was here?" he demanded.

"Yesterday."

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe you should try being a gentleman."

"I _have_ tried!" He stood up and walked to the mantle above the hearth. "I've tried _everything_! She's just so… so stubborn!" He gripped the vase resting on the wood and hurled it across the cottage.

His mother cringed.

"Two years!" he continued. "It's been two years, and still she refuses me. She dreams about me. She mumbles my name in her sleep. And yet she will not give in, not even to herself!"

"Calm down," Morgan said quietly.

Jareth fixed her with a deadly stare, before seeing the genuine fright in her eyes and elected to do as she bidded. Slowly, he lowered himself into the velvet chair. "I'll fix that," he said, gesturing to the shattered vase.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm out of ideas."

"You'll think of something," Morgan smiled. "After all, what's not to like? As long as you control that temper of yours," she added.

Jareth managed a half-hearted smile, letting go of his royal persona for just a moment as he gave into his human side and schlumped into the seat.

"Have hope, son."

"Thank you," he murmured. Two words so rare from his lips.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like you know," she said.

Jareth smiled, genuinely smiled, but rose just the same. He intended to have a few words with his traitorous sister before midnight, and it was nearly dusk. "I really need to get going."

A profound sadness entered Morgan's eyes. "Come back soon?"

"As soon as I can."

"Bring Gwen," she added. "I miss having you both here together with me."

"Of course."

They hugged briefly, before Jareth stepped out into the twilight and began to change, feeling feathers slowly take the place of his flesh.

He wanted to fly.

Jareth only had a few more hours of freedom left to him. At the stroke of midnight, Sarah's time would carry on from her and John's sixth month anniversary, and he would be dragged above to once again fetch the unwilling girl and try to coerce her into being his bride.

Again.

_a/n: So, I just kind of took this concept that Jareth was an illegitate child and ran with it. Sprinted actually. Far, far, far away. And for some reason, I just couldn't see Jareth having a happy home life. I mean, I honestly can't see him having any of those warm/fuzzy father/son moments. He seems too… well, too much like one of those brooding kids with bad homelives. That's just how he comes off to me. And also, I wanted Jareth to be sort of an underdog in this. Not this all powerful being. Sorry if you were expecting that. I just… like this approach. It's different and interesting to explore and write about. So… yeah, I made him a bit of a momma's boy. Although he's not a sissy by any means. And… one last thing (I promise!) sorry if there are grammatical errors. I didn't have time to do an edit runthrough._


	7. Of Witty Banter and Cotton Towels

**Disclaimer: I own nothing… but the world! Bwahahahahaha!**

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Seven – Of Witty Banter and Cotton Towels_

Sarah woke up to an alarm clock blaring.

Glancing over, she realized that it was two hours late.

Funny, she thought. She'd swore she'd set it for ten o' clock. She stretched her limbs, wondering why in the world they felt so stiff and sore. It was like she'd slept for ages or something.

There was something nagging on the fringes of her thoughts. Today was important, and so was… yesterday?

What had she done yesterday?

Let's see… she sat up in bed and tapped her fingers on the sheets, sending shadows dancing over the white where sunlight was streaming through the windows of her New York City apartment.

Sarah tried to recall yesterday's events, but failed miserably. It was nerve-wracking, and that was an understatement. Amnesia was something she'd never really suffered from before.

_Maybe I'm having a mental breakdown from the stress._

Being a struggling actress, not knowing entirely when her next paycheck would be or if there would be one at all was indeed a thought that had weighed heavy on her mind for the past couple of months.

She briefly wondered if Julia Roberts ever had to live in a shoebox like this.

Sarah sighed and hauled herself out of bed, a full two hours behind schedule. It was such an odd day.

She thought that maybe her lost memories would come to her in a shower, so she stepped into her claustrophobia-inducing bathroom.

The knob squeaked as she turned it with a wrench (the actual silver handles had rusted and fallen off long ago). The water sputtered out of the spicket for a minute before roaring down in a steady cascade. She removed her clothes and stepped into the steam, letting it soothe her worries… somewhat.

She still couldn't recall yesterday, or, for that matter, what she needed to do for today. And at the back of her thoughts, always and forever at the back of her thoughts, but profusely stronger today, was a certain king and his crooked smile.

Of course, Sarah had long ago acclimated to his presence there. You could call it evolution.

While she was showering, there was a knock on her apartment door.

"Mail call!" she heard a voice shouting.

"Shower," she answered back. That must be Morton. He did mail rounds for the five-story building, but usually on Wednesdays. He'd never come on Saturday before. "Just slide it under the door!"

"Okay," Morton yelled.

After lathering and rinsing, she decided she'd forego the repeat and twisted the knob back off with the wrench. Wrapping a towel around her torso, she walked out to her bedroom, noting the white envelope at the foot of her door. She scooped it off the ground and examined it.

There was no stamp or return address, but Sarah's full name and apartment number were written with the finest of penmanship. Over the flap, there was something written, but the print was too tiny to make out.

She slit open the letter with a fingernail and removed the letter inside.

_You really must learn to read the fine print._

There was nothing else written. It was blank except for that strange message.

"That look suits."

The paper fell from her hands and fluttered to the ground.

Jareth.

The Goblin King.

Was standing.

Right.

Behind.

Her.

_Wait a second._

Hadn't this happened before? God above it was just so familiar.

She pivoted, and Jareth looked surprised to note that her demeanor screamed confusion, rather than anger and fright.

"I'm losing my touch," he muttered, but she didn't hear him.

"Were you here before?" she demanded, squaring her shoulders and promptly ignoring both his crude comment and leering gaze.

"Not at all," he lied. "Perhaps you dreamed of me?" He smirked.

_He wrote the book on smirking._

"That would be a nightmare," she quipped.

"Then tell me," he took a step closer. "Why do you call out my name?"

"You have been here before!" she accused, standing her ground.

It was daylight, in her city, and for some reason, Jareth couldn't terrify her right now. Goblin Kings didn't belong in the day.

"You're the reason I can't remember things!" Sarah's eyes narrowed.

_The arrogant bastard._

For a moment, a shadow of something like surprise flitted over his face. He quickly recovered though, façade fluidly shifting into the confidence he wielded like a sword. "Now really Sarah. Your mental incapacities need no help of mine."

"Then, pray tell, why can't I remember?"

"Sounds like a personal problem to me."

"And why did this problem start the same day you waltz into my apartment." She took a step toward him, trying to scrutinize and intimidate him with her eyes.

_Good God he's beautiful._

"Mere happenstance."

_Who uses words like that?_

"Yeah right," she snorted. "Why are you here then?"

"Don't you know?" he asked innocently. "You wished yourself away." Jareth gestured to the letter on the floor by her bare feet. "And I, being the gracious monarch I am, have obliged to comply with your wishes."

"I did not wish myself away."

"Of course you did. You opened the envelope."

Sarah's brows creased. Smoothly, in one graceful motion, Jareth approached her and snatched the paper. He pointed to the writing across the seal, the script that was too tiny for her to read.

"I told you you should read the fine print. This says that anyone who breaks the seal of the envelope is hereby subject to immediate retrieval by the goblins." He smiled down at her. "I do hope you have a good lawyer up here."

"But… but…" she stammered. "You can't do that."

"I'm king, sweet. I can do anything I want to."

She looked past his shoulder, out into the New York sunlight. She opened her mouth several times, but couldn't think of anything to say. "You're a liar," she settled on finally, "and a cheat."

"Fae," he reminded her, before pulling her towards him, towel and all, and whirlpooling them both to the Underground.

They found themselves (once again for Jareth) in his ransacked bedchamber. Sarah studied the pools of glass shards, the toppled furniture, and the in-general mess of the place.

_Tornado?_

"Don't you have servants?"

"Constantly with the insolence." He still had one arm around her, holding her close. His voice was intoxicating velvet when he whispered in her ear. "You're really in no position to talk."

Sarah blushed when she realized she was still clad in only a towel. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Yes," she said, "I really do."

"You're lying."

He strung the words on a necklace of kisses around her collar bone.

"Cheat," she gasped out through the haze, and tried to pull away.

His lips brushed up the side of her neck, to her pulse point. He stayed there, as if he was monitoring her reaction to him.

"No." His hand moved down her side, coming to grip her hip. "I simply make up the rules as I go."

Sarah let out the breath she'd been holding.

"And before we're done here," he whispered into her earlobe. She shuddered. His nails dug into her hip through her cotton towel, "you will say that you love me."

_a/n: I love Jareth. Yes I do. I love Jareth. How bout' you? Ahhhhhhhhhh. Sexy Jareth gives me goosebumps. And I promise promise promise the next chapter will be longer and out pronto. Pinky swear. I have a five-day weekend._


	8. Playdoh Oxygen

_**Domino**_

_Chapter Eight – Play-Doh Oxygen_

Jareth flipped her around with her back pressed intimately against his chest before she had time to say 'lust'.

They stayed there but a moment, just breathing – both emitting gruff, uneven heaves. Sarah was appalled at herself when she noticed, and liked, the rough and tumble edge to his.

She steeled herself to step away, and she had just picked up the resolve when… she sighed… he began doing… that thing to her neck, skimming his open mouth right below her jawline. He let his sharp teeth graze occasional spots. Back and forth. Soft and tender, then hard.

"If love be rough with you…" she thought she heard him murmur.

"You be rough with love." He said it loud this time, and her heart started beating faster. It was throwing itself against her ribcage.

Maybe it was excited at the prospect of Jareth as Sarah's – she could barely edge the word out, even mentally – lover.

Or maybe, her eyes hardened, it recognized that it was about to be caged, and was making one last mad dash for freedom.

That's more like it, Sarah agreed. That option fit Jareth's intentions best.

Using great effort, she pushed with both palms on his upper thigh, and with a little resistant noise, he let her go.

Her eyes closed.

Alice had to draw the line somewhere.

Sarah turned around.

And just speaking of Wonderland…

Jareth was lying on a blue blanket, faintly shimmering (it couldn't be helped), one leg pulled up, a pale hand resting on that knee. His golden hear glimmered from the lights of a dozen candles floating above him. Sarah found suddenly that she was outside underneath the stars, alone with a creature looking at her for all the world like she was food. Delicious food. Multi-tiered, decadent, heavily frosted cake even. And he was the starving man.

That smile on his face sent shivers crawling down her spine. It reminded her of jungles, of Vikings, and of things that went bump in the night.

Damn, Sarah thought, as she looked at the steaming meal, wine bottle, and rolling snow-capped mountain scenery surrounding them. He was trying to _romance_ her. The very thought! If he believed that a pretty picnic would purchase her love, he had another thing coming.

"Sit," he gestured to the space across him with long, spindly fingers.

Sarah kept her gaze steady as she strolled across the downy grass and lowered herself to the blanket, making it perfectly clear that she was doing this of her own volition, treating his order as if it were a question. She also noticed that her towel had been replaced by a simple dress that was surprisingly easy to move in.

"This," she admitted, as he poured her a sparkling flute of wine, "is unexpected."

Then again, it was the Goblin King. Fae, as he said.

"You'll find I can be quite cordial."

"Ah," said Sarah, "I see. You kick goblins around out of the kindness of your heart."

She dared a glance at him, only to find his eyes six shades darker in contemptible rage.

He briskly handed her a champagne glass, before looking away and trying to control his patience.

Sarah had an odd urge to test it to its limits.

The concept was tempting.

Nigh, _irresistible_.

She forked a spear of some green, planty thing, before raising it almost to her lips. "What a fine king you make," she snorted.

In a move that put the lightning to shame, he grabbed the fork she was holding and threw it to the darkness, before standing above her. Gray tendrils in the sky seemed to arch toward his towering figure, and swarm over his white skin like vines. Sparks caught his outline in Sun-like splendor. Mismatched eyes flashed.

"I am the host. You are the gracious guest. And you, my dear, would do well to play your part."

Jareth sat once more. The gray vines and glowing thread retreating back to the heavens.

He offered her a different plate, this time, with some sort of broiled meat on it.

Sarah closed her mouth and blinked the terrified awe from her expression, before composing herself. She arched her eyebrows and arranged a lock of ebony hair in front of her shoulder. "Showoff."

"Hungry?" he asked, cool as a cucumber.

"Yes, please," Sarah answered, "but your majesty?" she couldn't help the teasing tone that invaded her voice on the last two words.

"Yes, sweet?"

"I have no fork."

The barest hint of a smirk rested in the corner of her lips. Jareth's contracted in a tight line.

_What a temper!_

His fingers circled the air for a moment before presenting their handiwork to Sarah.

"Um, Jareth," she said, glancing at the object, "that's a butcher knife."

His eyes flicked to the knife to confirm its identity. Quickly, he rotated it, and the knife became a harmless fork.

"Freudian slip, perhaps?" he teased.

Sarah took the fork with ample hesitation, as though at any moment it might turn back into a knife and impale her. What she didn't know was that the fork was looking at her with similar apprehensions. It didn't know where her mouth had been. It was a magical fork after all, and smart too, as far as silverware went.

Jareth eyed her over the top of his glass. "The only thing that might possibly bite you here is me."

"I bite back," she warned, promptly plunging her cringing fork into the food.

"I'm counting on it."

They ate and spoke in insults disguised as pleasantries for some time. The fork grew used to its job. And far above them, the stars shifted in their eternal rounds.

Finally, when a polite portion of the food had been consumed, Jareth pulled a crystal from nothingness and presented it to Sarah.

Sarah, being the intelligent learn-from-previous-mistakes girl she was, declined to take it from him.

_All a trick_, she chanted to herself, so as not to fall into the silky web of his charm.

"A gift," he quoted, the starving man smirk back in its familiar place.

"No," said Sarah. "A gift is tube socks. A gift is a laptop computer. A gift is a new car. _That_, Jareth, is not a gift."

"Trinkets," he scoffed. "This is much better. You won't ask for a refund, I promise."

_Never take candy from a stranger..._

"Yes, well," she said, still eyeing it doubtfully, "I'm more worried about surviving actually. I haven't had the best experiences with your gifts."

His grin fell. "Maybe that has something to do with the fact that you deny them."

"Maybe if you presented yourself in a more trustworthy fashion, I wouldn't." Their stares met, charged with the resolve of twin wills, equally stubborn. They certainly kept each other on their toes.

Something clicked, some wheels and cogs cranking together, inside of his eyes that moment. "Trustworthy…" he muttered, before he tossed the crystal up. It sprouted green leaves, and a red bud when it landed in his palm once again, petals slowly unfurling. "It was only a rose."

Sarah eyed the flower doubtfully. "Nothing here seems to be 'only' anything."

_You taught me that._

Jareth chuckled deep in his throat. "Too true," he said, before laying the rose on the grass beside the blanket and watching it shoot roots into the ground. Green twirled up and out, until a full-fledged rose bush emerged, blossoms glowing with a rich, pure scarlet hue in the candlelight. "You said you wanted to trust me." He was looking at her now.

She tilted her head, bearing the suspicious demeanor that had never really left in the first place.

"Well then," Jareth held out his hand, "Come."

Sarah ignored his hand, and pushed herself up off the ground by herself. The Goblin King rolled his eyes, before proceeding to pluck the little glass candles from the air. They weren't so much floating in it, Sarah was fascinated to notice, as _set_ into it. It was as if he had carved the nothingness, the atoms of whatever gases swarmed in the atmosphere here, into a dozen shelves, and placed the candles on them. It was like carpentry, but with the sky.

She saw how the air contracted when he took each one out.

And now that she really had a good look, she noticed that the candles weren't candles at all. They were little translucent jars, and as Jareth flipped the lid on each one, the small beam of light contained inside zipped upward toward the heavens. A meteor shower, but in reverse.

"Where are they going?"

"Back to their stars," he answered nonchalantly, as if explaining simple math to a child.

"You can capture starlight?"

He turned, obviously quite pleased by the impressed tone of her voice. "Of course. You see, magic isn't so much about creating something out of nothing, as it is about knowing how to work with what's already there."

Sarah mused on this for a minute. She had never considered that something as exotic as magic could have physics and laws. It was a new concept to wrap her head around. Jareth watched her out of the corner of his eye.

After he had sent the last light home, and vanished any remnants of their picnic, Sarah and Jareth were left alone in the semi-dark, beside the rose bush.

"Shall we?" he asked, extending his hand once more.

_Trap_, the more logical side of her mind was screaming.

Slowly, with deliberate anticipation, she put her slender fingers in his. He wrapped his hand around hers, and they lurched, through the colors and the mayhem.

When they arrived at their destination, Sarah lurched towards him, ending up against his chest and using his shoulders to scramble and regain balance on slippery rocks.

With more tenderness than she had expected, he righted her, keeping a steady grip on her forearms lest gravity decided to have another go at her mortal form.

"I'm fine," she assured.

_God, even here I say it!_

"You're welcome." But the inflection in his voice suggested otherwise.

Sarah looked around her now. Immediately, she noted that they were in some sort of cavern or grotto. It was gigantic, a magnificent stone cathedral, and before her feet yawned a small lake. It was filled to the brim with a luminous substance. As it was the stereotype Sarah had attached to all magical objects, she was surprised it didn't glitter.

It simply had a sheen. It was a liquid, seemingly made of white gold. It was lapping just before her toes. The pearly waters sent motes and ripples of white light dancing on the vast dome ceiling.

Sarah's mouth hung open, and she found she could not look away. Not even her iron will allowed that.

"It's quite something, isn't it," mused Jareth. "We call it the Quarry. It's essentially why the Fae may do magic. The Quarry is the source of everything I conjure. The fork you dined with, my crystals, the rose you refused. It's underground, nearly impossible to find for any not of my race, and it is a capital offense bringing any human here." He chanced a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "But I've never been much for rules."

When she spoke, it was in tones of hushed reverence. "What is it?"

The Goblin King shrugged. "Dreams, imagination, creativity, memory, time… Everything that exists, but cannot be seen."

Before her eyes, the fluid substance transformed, becoming compact and solid. It phased into granules of a shining sand so fine, it looked like silk. The grains packed together into a dune. Sarah took a step closer. How she longed to just dive in.

"You said you wanted to trust me," Jareth said. "Dip your hands in this and you will be my equal. Temporarily, you can command it to do your bidding." He gestured to the a short flight of slimy rock stairs beside him.

Sarah heard his words, but barely recognized their importance. She began to lean.

Fiercely, his hand shot out and caught her, whipping her around. "Should've known it would like you," he huffed. "Everybody likes you."

"Huh?" she said dreamily.

Jareth leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead. Her eyes lowered for just a moment, but then she shot to cognizance.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Oh, wasn't he just smug now.

Sarah nodded, immensely surprised at the deed he was doing. Offering up equality on a silver platter? Oh, but payback did sound so sweet. Her mind was whirling with visions of it.

Still, the voice at the back of her mind – _trap_. She narrowed her eyes.

Jareth simply looked exasperated. "Sarah, not even I could conjure up something like this. I give you my word as a gentleman."

"But you're not a gentleman."

"Mmmm," he pondered, "not entirely. But enough."

Sarah could tell he was keeping something hidden, locking away some closely guarded secret he didn't want her to know. Mismatched eyes were simmering.

She was surprised to find that she believed him, wholeheartedly in fact, or was her reason for turning and walking down the steps based on her desire to touch the white gold stuff.

She was transfixed again when she noticed that it was glowing now, bright as the captured starlight. The substance seemed to change forms rapidly.

Sarah kneeled down to the surface when she reached the bottom ledge, enchanted by its evermoving beauty. She thought she could see things in it now. Colors occasionally, and glimpses of stunning landscapes. It also hummed, ever so slightly, in a lulling melody. It was nearly like a lullaby, but it too transformed, picking up pace and quarter notes to become staccato and cheery, before mellowing again. Sarah stretched out both her palms to the edge of what was now caught somewhere between a liquid and a vapor.

They came closer and closer. She felt her whole body leaning with them, and realized that she was going to fall in.

_I wouldn't mind_. _It couldn't be so bad…_

Jareth, however, wrapped strong arms around her torso and halted her tumble.

"Touch it," he whispered, breath hot in her ear. "But only touch. If you fall, it will consume you."

Sarah obediently placed just the palms of her hands to the white gold (now) mist, before drawing them back quickly. Bolts, seemingly of electricity, ricocheted through her body as Jareth pulled her up and away from the Quarry, finally catapulting them back to his throne room, wondering all the while if this had been such a bright idea.

She felt… awake. As if she had been sleeping until now.

Jareth knew this as he looked at her. To mortals, the Quarry became an drug. It was why humans were forbidden. If she wasn't to forget about this entire affair, he would have never dreamed to take her.

Sarah flexed her hands, and noticed that she could feel the air around her like it was clay, or water. She could push it out of the way if she wanted to, or mold it. Or, if her wishes suited, she could simply move through it. The feeling was glorious.

Something was vibrating the ground under her feet, a steady thrumming that was, she speculated, the heart of the Labyrinth. It was so strong and unexpectedly alive.

Everything looked sharper and more vivid, like focusing a camera she wasn't aware was ever unfocused to begin with.

Sarah gasped.

"Don't get too used to it," he reminded.

She smirked, and pushed the malleable air up against him in a wave with the intent to knock him off his feet. Jareth simply flicked the wave out of his way, before sending another blast her way. It hit her square in the chest and propelled her back to the wall. Before she knew it, she was shackled there.

Jareth, with a coolness she hated, strutted to his throne and sat in it, conjuring a goblet and taking smooth sips.

"Lesson one," he said, arrogance brimming from his every pore, "Escape."

_Asshole._

"Jareth, I'm gonna…" her voice was suddenly muffled by a piece of fabric gagging her mouth. He laughed as she struggled. She continued cursing his name for a few minutes, before giving up and trying to figure out a way to get unshackled.

She first tried closing her eyes and simply willing the cuffs away. But that didn't work.

Jareth shooks his head in his throne. "Mortals think magic is so easy. You'll have to be more creative than that."

Sarah glared at him. Her first order of business was to get the damn piece of fabric out of her mouth. She had a few choice words for the bastard.

"You know," spoke the bastard, "you look quite lovely in this position. Very agreeable."

She ignored him, and thought harder.

She imagined that she could use light to cut through the metal, much like a welder would. If only she could figure out how he had contained the stars. She opened a hand and focused on gathering the light to her.

It was different, floating to her hand more willingly than even the air, and it was easier to hold. It started to grow hot in her hand. She quickly rolled it over the top of her fingers – much as she'd seen Jareth do with his crystals once – and watched as it infused into the metal. She gathered and rolled more light to it, until little glowing fissures appeared, and the shackle shattered. Immediately, she snatched the gag out of her mouth and worked on unbinding her other wrist and ankles.

The Goblin King clapped his hands. "Impressive. Although you must be banking on your captor being slow as a turtle."

Free at last, she pivoted towards him. Her eyes shot daggers.

"I say again, you mortals think it so easy."

"I did it though," Sarah said. "I passed."

With her foot, Sarah rolled the air around into a sphere and kicked it. It shot straight at Jareth, much faster this time, and since he hadn't noticed her making it, collided with his shoulder. Unfortunately, Sarah was not very experienced, and he was only barely nudged. He appeared shell-shocked.

Sarah smiled.

"Better," he approved. "Much better."

Suddenly, the stones around her started collapsing, falling into a black abyss dark as pitch. They started at the corners of the room and, bypassing Jareth's throne, caved in toward her.

"If you throw me a rope," he called, studying the back of his hand, "I might catch it."

_Is he out of his fucking mind?_

The hole grew bigger, and her solid donut hole in the middle smaller as the stone bits crumpled off.

Sarah felt the air around her, felt it and squeezed it. She imagined that she was in third grade again, making a rope out of Play-doh. And that's what she did. She rolled the air, compressed it tightly, and then moved on to another section.

Her invisible cord wasn't nearly strong enough to take her weight though. She needed to give it substance. She needed to infuse it with that white-gold slivery stuff. Sarah closed her eyes and gripped one end of the cord. She ran her hand down its length, imagining all the while that it was becoming a strong and heavily braided rope. When she looked, she was surprised to note that it had worked, and horrified to note that she was standing on a mere square foot of solid rock.

Desperately, she tossed one end of the rope to Jareth. He caught it without looking up. "Jump."

She did, and landed, unhappy and puffing on the stone floor. She stared below her. The ground still looked open. She should be plummeting to her death now, but it was solid. Suddenly, the hole appeared to close up.

"An illusion, sweet" Jareth explained, laughing above her. He kneeled down to her level and pushed one lock of hair behind her ear. "I would never hurt you… much."

Sarah slapped his hand away and stood up. She had expected this magical powers deal to be quite a less bit taxing. If it weren't for the sensation of every cell in her body nearly searing with life and power, she would almost say it wasn't worth it. "Careful Goblin King," she said. "I'm a quick learner."

_a/n: it's an awkward place to leave off, I know. And I didn't mean it to be that way. I have lots more I want to say, but no time to type it, so… Hope you enjoyed. This is a long one, as promise. Not as long as I had hoped, but that's okay I guess. Read and review please. Everything helps. I'm looking for my muffin, Fabricated Revolution_


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